


Corn Stalks and Dust

by casknows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Apocalypse, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gallows Humor, Gore, Human Castiel, Human!Castiel - Freeform, Humor, Humour, Hurt Castiel, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain, Post-Apocalypse, Winchesters - Freeform, apocalypse au, dean and castiel - Freeform, denied love, friends - Freeform, injuries, relationship, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:25:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casknows/pseuds/casknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are both under the impression that they are the last man on earth. Obviously this isn't the case. After years surviving alone in a post-apocalyptic city, the (apparently) last two souls left alive are about to find each other; with interesting consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently this has turned into a multi-chapter affair, and I fervently hope I've done all it all the justice it deserves. Any questions/observations/criticism/whatever, please put it in the comments, I would very much appreciate the feedback. You can follow me for updates on this fic/my sufferings on Twitter @constantsuffer

The apocalypse was fast, violent, and thorough. No one was left. Everyone was dead. Except Dean.

The virus had taken every person in every country with no exception. It had been brief and brutal. Dean had watched as the people around him became weak, pale, moving slowly like they were suffering from chronic fatigue or depression. At first that's what everyone had thought it was. Depression. The doctors had prescribed pills, holidays in the sun, miracle operations, but the disease continued only to desecrate its victims. The cities became silent, any soul who did venture out walked slowly, head down, zombie like.

But Dean was fine. I mean as fine as one can be when everyone around him was slowly turning to dust but yeah, he was physically healthy. Soon the people around him were dying, they would just drop in the streets where they walked, slower and slower until they stood still, and then slowly kneel on the ground and keel over, like a vehicle that's stopped working. Then there were none left, in about the space of two weeks everyone was gone and the city began to rot and fall apart until it resembled an abandoned ghost town. And Dean was still perfectly healthy. And alone.

At night he camped out in the suburbs where the danger from unexpected fires or falling debris in the city was less. In the day he scavenged, searched any still intact buildings he could find for canned foods or anything to use for fuel and bedding.

It was lonely and it was monotonous but it was what he had to do to survive. And to stay sane. It's amazing how damn boring it gets only being able to talk to yourself and the occasional pigeon, plus five years into the post-apocalyptic depression and having no sign of another soul doesn't exactly make you feel particularly positive.

This was just another day of survival, traversing the empty city on his daily hike to the gardens. Avoiding the usual cracks in the concrete, keeping an eye on sliding debris from rooftops, navigating between the giant skyscrapers that leant against each other like colossal lovers searching for support.

Upon reaching the gardens Dean came to the sudden realisation that something was different. The heavy stillness in the air that came with the complete lack of any other human beings, the stillness that he was so used to being surrounded in was lighter, somehow not so heavy. Something had happened.

Dean dropped to the ground and slowly wormed his way through the thick stalks of corn that grew at the edges of the garden. He scowled and muttered under his breath, "Damn animals tryna steal my shit again."

Quietly he reached down and pulled out his gun from its holster on his belt, he rose to his feet quietly and thumbed back the trigger. The click seemed unnervingly loud in the silence, but hell did it elicit a response! There was a whip of branches as something that seemed suspiciously too savvy to be an animal whirled around. Dean shoved his way through the remaining stalks, gun raised, and something tall shoved past him, knocking him to the side as it tried to flee. Dean threw himself forward arms waving wildly trying to grab the thing. There was a thump as both bodies fell awkwardly to the ground, the gun falling and going off with a loud BANG that echoed in the stillness. Dean lay still, heart thumping so hard in his chest that he thought whatever was lying underneath him would certainly hear it. The something moved under him and he slowly raised his head to see what he had actually fallen onto...

It was a man. His hair was dark and unkempt, dark stubble shadowed his sharp jawline, and the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen stared into his own in shock. And damn was he the most attractive dude that Dean Winchester had ever laid eyes upon. (Side note: Since Dean has not laid eyes upon another soul in about five years, I think basically anyone would seem like the hottest piece of manflesh under the sun at this point. However, it is important to note that this dude, the one currently staring up at Dean with eyes so blue it seemed almost aggressive, was one very attractive specimen, regardless of the fact that he was the only guy Dean had seen for five (5) years. But I digress...)

Slowly Dean rose to his feet, awkwardly disentangling himself from the man underneath him, and standing up. Haltingly the man stood up also, he kept his eyes on Dean the whole time, he seemed to be assessing for danger or something unexpected and Dean thought it was sad that the only two people apparently left on earth would be so untrusting of one another. They stood and looked at each other suspiciously, the man's eyes flickered to the gun lying on the grass beside them and back to Dean. Then he cleared his throat, and spoke quietly as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time.

"I thought I was the only one left."

"Man, so did I."

The relief in both voices was obvious and Dean couldn't suppress a grin from spreading across his face.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, the suspicious atmosphere that had previously surrounded them had now lessened and Dean slowly held out his hand, the meaning of the gesture was clear: You can trust me. A moment, then it was shaken.

"I'm Dean"

"Castiel."

And Dean remembered for the first time in a long time, what it was like to not be alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's perspective. Introductions are made, the men are no longer alone, Dean is hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a considerable amount of time since I delved into the wonderful world of writing Dean/Cas (or writing at all, for that matter), so please excuse the slightly weird style shift, etc. I'm sure it will all straighten out into the good old fashioned Dean/Cas flow that we all know and love, soon enough. In the meantime, do bear with, I'm sure it'll be worth it.

Two tins of baked beans slowly heated in the embers of a small fire, the warm glow of light that it emitted driving away the onset of darkness by a small degree. Dean sat before it, rolled back on his haunches and staring at the dying coals before him. His contemplative stance reminded Castiel of an animal. Graceful and dangerous. 

Castiel himself was perched a little less gracefully on a small boulder on the other side of the fire. This whole situation was more than slightly bizarre, yesterday Castiel had been fighting off a pack of angry dogs while roaming the city streets alone, thinking (quite understandably) that he was the only human left on earth. Now, here he was, sitting opposite this Dean guy over a fire, getting ready to eat tinned beans. Additionally, this was somehow feeling like an oddly romantic setting, in a tense, shy sort of way. The small flames that continued to struggle up from the embers of the glowing pool of burning light managed to pick out the mans features in a strangely beautiful way. His cheekbones looked golden and his hair, a caramel halo streaked with blond from the sun, framed his face. This mans equally golden stubble dusted his jawline, his lower cheeks, danced a light shade over his upper lip. He looked like a rugged, golden angel.

At this specific moment, a tin of beans popped threateningly and loudly among the embers, breaking the heavy silence that had reigned for some time. Castiel jumped violently at the sudden noise, then reddened and ducked his head, concentrating on poking the cans out of the fire with a stick.

They ate the beans quickly, both hunched over the tins in a protective manner, as if they were both under the impression that their measly meal could be snatched away at any time. This was all either of them had had to eat today, though neither man mentioned this fact to the other. The food was hot, tasted slightly ashy, and burned Castiel’s mouth as he shoved the gooey mess of beans and tomato sauce into it with the battered metal spoon he usually kept safe in his right breast pocket. _Tomato sauce. In all this shit I’m living through_ , Castiel thought, _I’m still eating tomato fucking sauce_. He snorted quietly at the thought of it, and Dean snapped his head up to give Castiel a slightly confused, guarded look; slight frown, head tilted a little to one side, mouth frozen mid-chew.

“I-” Castiel stopped to rethink his words. It had been a while since he’d spoken out loud (to anyone but himself), and it was proving more challenging than he remembered. “I was thinking that it seems somehow ironic, eating beans and tomato sauce in the midst of all this.. this shit.” A pause. Then Dean grunted in assent, a very un-angelic sound, and went back to his beans.

The minutes following the initial meeting of Dean and Castiel had been bizarre and intense, almost surreal. When introductions had been made (“No, I’m not dying”; “No, I don’t have anyone else with me”; “Nope, no game plan either” etc. etc.) Castiel hadn’t been sure how to proceed. After the encounter in ‘the garden’, as Dean had called it, there had been a strong element of uncertainty as to what to do next. Castiel had explained, with the slightly guilty air of one caught trespassing, that he’d been looking for food when Dean had arrived. He’d stumbled across the garden a few weeks ago when he’d been looking for an opportunity for fresh food.

“After a long stretch of time eating canned food, I decided it wasn’t really  sustainable diet.” Castiel had commented with a humourless chuckle. “It’s incredible how much canned food can be found in a huge city like this. I’ve been living off beans a pineapple chunks for too long for it to be in any way healthy.” Dean cracked a dry laugh and nodded in agreement.

“I found this place about a year back.” He said, his voice quiet, rough from disuse. “It was obviously some kind of community garden, tomato plants gone batshit, there was a pumpkin the size of Cinderella’s fucking carriage.” Castiel smiled a little at this, he’d obviously got lucky with this guy, _thank god that the only other person left on earth has a sense of humour_. It felt strange, smiling. Castiel wondered when the last time was that he’d smiled, properly smiled. _A really fucking long time, probably._ It was then that he realised that this was, quite possibly, the first time he’d smiled for two years… Since his family had died. Since everyone had died. Apart from this guy. There was a short silence as Castiel had looked around him at the tall stalks of corn surrounding the perimeter of the garden. ‘Corn field’ was, admittedly, not a particularly accurate description of the place, now that he thought about it. ‘Garden’ was clearly more accurate.

“How come I never saw you?” Dean asked suddenly, almost incredulous, snapping Castiel back to the present. “Thinkin I was the only guy left made me slow, I admit, but not that slow!” He was looking at Castiel with an untrusting frown on his face. Suspicion, slight desperation, and, disbelief? Castiel knew the feeling, he couldn’t quite believe this was all real either. _I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy just disappeared right now, It’s incredible I didn’t go crazy any earlier I suppose._ Dean was still staring, Castiel noticed (at this obviously completely inappropriate moment) that the intense green of the foliage behind Dean’s head was the almost exact same colour as his eyes. Blinking ( _Pull yourself together you complete idiot, the first guy you meet in two years and you’re thinking about his eyes?_ ), Castiel returned the stare, and explained that, as sleeping at night was usually an issue for him, Castiel tended to use this time to gather food, among other as equally fascinating pastimes, which explained why Dean hadn’t bumped into him and nearly shot him sooner.

The next few hours left of daylight had been spent showing each other their places of residence, following which they then decided to both camp at Dean’s place, seeing as it was bigger (“You can- um, stay at my place, if you want. God, this is weird”). It seemed obvious to Castiel that the apparently only two people left on earth should stick together, live out this lonely existence together, possibly find a solution/other people/some reprieve from the isolation, together. _One can’t just wish the other guy ‘good luck’ and then be on your way, in this sort of situation,_ had been Castiel’s prevailing thought, one which was echoed by Dean about an hour into their newly formed partnership (of sorts), during the walk to Dean’s place when he said gruffly, and out of the blue during a particularly long silence, “I think I’ve gotta stick with you now, that’s my overall conclusion. Can’t go back to how it was before, knowing that somewhere out there is the only other dude that survived the apocalypse…” This comment had seemed oddly vulnerable, unfitting for the type of person that Castiel imagined Dean to be, and Castiel doubted that it was the sort of observation that he should think about getting used to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's perspective. Main chapter discovery point: Castiel wears pyjamas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm surprised I've actually gotten this far. But I'm pleased to say I've now managed to plan out this fic properly, so all it requires going forward is to write it. Easier said than done, good luck to me. Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me thus far.

Dean lay still, his eyes firmly shut, mind still fogged and slow with sleep. It was during these brief times in between sleeping and waking, when the mind slowly rises up into consciousness like a swimmer rising up from the depths of the ocean, to break the surface of the water and return again into the harsh, bright world of wakefulness; it was at these moments that Dean could escape reality. Not completely, not like when he slept - descending into an exhausted velvet darkness every night that was devoid of any dreams or reminiscence of his old life. This was different. He would slowly wake, and for a few precious seconds, Dean would be unaware of the immense change, would forget that everyone was gone. For a few small moments everything would feel normal, like it was Before. 

He could, in that short time, thoroughly believe that he would wake up in his own bed; roll out of the covers and pad downstairs, into the kitchen to make his usual morning coffee: overly strong and very hot, no milk, no sugar. His brother Sammy might plod into the kitchen a short time later, messy bed-head and squinting eyes, mumbling something relatively unintelligible along the lines of “Gmonin Dean”. Bobby would wander in from outside, already awake before anyone else in the family, he would have been out in the garage working on his cars. Now on his first break of the day, Bobby would join Dean and Sammy sitting around the kitchen table. Coffee passed around, sleepy good mornings in reply to Bobby’s wide-awake, if slightly gruff greeting. Respectful of each others struggle to wake up fully in the mornings, there would be a companionable silence, occasionally broken by the soft sound of slurping coffee. Peaceful companionship, slow languid mornings before the bustle of work. That was how it used to be.

Dean was fully conscious now; though his eyes were still firmly closed, he knew where he was. He knew that there was no coffee, or Sammy, or Bobby, or work to go to. There was however, he slowly remembered, this new development of the other apocalypse survivor, who was currently asleep on his couch.

Hearing a slight noise, like a sort of shuffle, Dean cracked open an eye. The eye scanned the room, while the other stayed stubbornly closed. He hated waking up.

A pause. Another noise, a cough; possibly a sniff. Dean sighed and reluctantly opened the other eye. He was lying in his bed (a mattress covered in a _relatively_ clean sheet, on the wooden floor of the room that Dean supposed was his bedroom), his legs slightly tangled in the mess of blankets that he’d half shoved off himself in the night. Sunlight streamed through the large, floor to ceiling windows at the far end. Although they were dirty, covered in grime from years of neglect, they somehow managed to give the room a dreamy atmosphere, a golden-yellow glow that Dean decided seemed far too happy to be present in the midst of a post-apocalyptic depression. It filtered out the dirty floor and walls, the peeling wallpaper, everything seemed somehow heavenly, as if maybe an angel was standing in the next room, and his light had happened to shine through the doorway.

Another cough. Dean struggled out of bed, disentangling himself from the mound of blankets and shuffling to the door, peering out suspiciously. He blinked a few times, eventually managing to focus his eyes on the cause of the noise. Castiel stood in the middle of the next room. It would once have been a living room, also wooden floored, dirty and peeling wallpaper, now very sparsely decorated. It sported only a fireplace in the wall at the far end and a mound of unopened cans of food in a corner. The was also a dilapidated blue sofa, slightly wonky and obviously slept in, shoved up against the same wall as Dean’s door.

The golden light shone here as well, through french windows that, though even more grimy than those in Dean’s room, cast an even stronger light inside. The light bathed Castiel’s whole frame, highlighting dust motes that floated around him in a sparkling haze, and touching his hair so that the wisps surrounding his dark, shaggy head looked like a halo. Castiel stood and looked at the window sleepily, his eyes half closed, his face relaxed, lit in a sort of golden haze. _He looks like a fucking angel._ Was Dean’s main thought. Then he cleared his throat loudly and padded into the room, breaking the moment of stillness.

Castiel started, as if torn away from some internal process. Turning towards Dean, he frowned slightly, as if a little confused as to why a shirtless man was suddenly standing, staring at him from the doorway. Dean returned the befuddled expression, peering confusedly at the scene. Castiel was wearing a very large and very lumpy woollen jumper, in a violent shade of lime green. Lower down, Castiel was sporting a pair of baggy sweatpants that extended far longer than his legs did, and had been rolled up several times, revealing feet clad in a thick pair of red socks, that shone like a sort of beacon from under the folds of Castiel’s trousers. _I bet he knitted them himself,_ Dean speculated, sleepily.

The whole outfit was more than slightly bizarre, and Dean was surprised it hadn’t been the first thing he clocked when he first laid eyes on the man this morning. However, Dean restrained himself from making any remarks, feeling that Castiel may be the sort of person that takes offence when comments are made about their clothes- ones which were clearly personal. Instead, Dean merely muttered: “Nice pyjamas.” and then began to shuffle slowly across the room towards the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel replied, rather mournfully; apparently unmoving from his position at the centre of the room. He blinked, and then continued, slowly but seriously, and with the slight mumble that accompanies morning conversation: “Thank you. I try to continue the habits I retained Before, where possible. Wearing pyjamas for instance…” Adding,  seemingly as an afterthought, “I knitted the socks myself.”

Dean nodded as he disappeared into the kitchen, “Thought so.” A moment, and then his head appeared again in the doorway. “I’m assuming you still eat breakfast, regardless of the world having ended and all that crap?”

Castiel paused. “What exactly do you eat for breakfast?” He inquired curiously. He had a deep voice, contrasting a little oddly with his puppy dog demeanour. _Wait, puppy dog?_ Dean made a face, retreating back into the kitchen with a doubtful ‘hmmph’ noise, accompanied a few moments later by the sound of cupboards opening and shutting. Finally, Dean’s voice floated dubiously into the living room,

“Baked beans?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's perspective. A short chapter in which Dean's arms feature heavily (more Destiel was asked for, so here you go).

Dean’s place of residence was a house of fair proportions, situated on the border of what had served as a small park, in what had been a richer end of the city. Here, there had been white picket fences, families having picnics in the park, some guy working the minimum wage to clear the streets of dead leaves and litter. It was the sort of place Dean would have despised and made every effort to avoid, in the old days. But now everyone else was gone, he’d reasoned that it was a nice neighbourhood, if he was the only one who lived in it. Plus, the buildings in the area were limited to two, maybe three storeys at most, which was helpful when one wished to avoid bits of falling skyscraper. From here, all indication of falling debris was a distant booming noise, as some large chunk or other came crashing down somewhere nearer the city centre.

Castiel had learnt all of this information gradually over the past week. Some of it through questioning, and some through experience. Though mostly questioning. Dean, as it turned out, was a man of little words, and Castiel liked to know things, so the only way to get around this was to ask copious amounts of questions until he was rebuffed with “Jesus Castiel, nosy much?” Or sometimes more simply: “I beg you to shut up.”

Today had been more hopeful. Castiel had wandered into the small kitchen to find Dean already awake (something that had never happened before. Though to be fair, Castiel had reasoned, a week isn’t much to go on) and sat at the heavy wooden kitchen table, facing away from Castiel and squinting at an open book on the table before him. Castiel stood in the doorway, slightly thrown at this sudden change of routine. He hadn’t pegged Dean as the reading type.

Dean’s shirt was tight, and short sleeved, and the morning light shone quite flatteringly on the tranquil scene in the kitchen. There was a short, peaceful silence, in which Castiel deliberated on what to do, and Dean softly turned a page. Eventually he enquired curiously, “Good morning, Dean. What are you reading?” Dean jumped violently and almost threw the book across the room in surprise, quickly snapping it shut on the table and whipping round to face Castiel with an intensity in his face that Castiel had only seen once before. When they nearly tried to kill each other in the corn field. Upon seeing Castiel he drew in a quick, sharp breath.

“Jesus Castiel.” Dean breathed out slowly and momentarily closed his eyes. Slumping back down into his chair, he mumbled distractedly “Don’t do that. Freaking poltergeist appearing out of nowhere. Gave me a heart attack.”

Castiel’s mouth opened slightly in surprise, he hadn’t realised he’d been walking so quietly. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to give you a shock…” Trailing off, Castiel realised that Dean had just said a great many more words than usual for this time in the morning, and he brightened slightly, adding: “I will take care to warn you of my presence, in the future.”

Dean looked confused, and sat back down in his chair heavily. “Yeah, uh, okay thanks. That’s great, Cas. Mind if I call you Cas? I was just, uh, looking at one of your books.” He reeled off quickly, looking a little sheepish, and sliding the book he’d been flicking through across the table to Castiel. Sitting down across from Dean, and rolling up the sleeves of his large green sweater, Castiel peered at the novel on the table. ‘Bees and Their Ways’ peered back up at him, from its battered brown and yellow cover. Castiel blinked, “I see you found my novel collection.” Dean’s sheepish expression deepened, “Yeah, sorry… I saw it on the table and you were still sleeping, so..” He trailed off. Castiel wondered why he looked so guilty, it was only a book.

“I am not offended, Dean. Please don’t worry about reading my book.” He replied slowly. Picking it up, he flicked through the first few pages, feeling slightly nostalgic. He’d kept bees, before the end of the world happened, now this book was all he had left of that. He looked up and found Dean looking at him, with a surprisingly gentle expression. His eyes flicked down to the book in Castiel’s hands, and then again to his face.

“You kept bees, right?” He asked, his voice a little quieter than before, as if he thought he might be treading on delicate ground. “I saw your pencil notes.” He added. Castiel smiled, a crooked, half-smile, and nodded once. “I had three hives.” he said proudly, but softly, subconsciously echoing Dean’s tone. “There was a community garden in my neighbourhood, and I got a license for bee-keeping.” There was a pause, then even more quietly, “My sister Anna gave me this book.” Castiel gently leafed to the title page. In black biro, written in a cramped, looping hand was written: _Dear Cas, since all you seem to need to do now, is to actually become a bee yourself, I thought this would help. Love, Anna. P.S Please get yourself a boyfriend, you spend way too much time around those hives._

Dean read the message with a slight grin and raised eyebrow. “No boyfriend? Apparently you’re the reclusive type then, huh.”  Castiel reddened and closed the book. The moment, whatever it was, had passed. Dean saw Castiel’s red face and immediately looked sheepish again, “I was joking! Sorry, no offence meant..” Castiel humphed and got up to forage for breakfast in the cupboards, “There was none taken.” He replied after a few moments, his voice muffled as he poked his head into a depressingly empty cupboard. “However,” He continued, closing that door and opening a shelf lower down, “My relationship status as single was of my own choosing.”

Dean, still seated at the table behind him, looked bemused. “Prefer to play the field huh?” He was met with a deadpan, “No.” and looked down, appropriately bashed. There was a pause, then Castiel shut the last cupboard and turned to face him, leaning against the counter and placing his hands upon it on either side of him. “I was just more interested in the bees.” He said softly, then after a pause, “At the time.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Also, we’re out of food. Even baked beans.”

Dean looked surprised, unpleasantly so. “Already? Shit. I forgot there’s two of us now.” He stood, pushing back his chair and leaning back against the wooden table, mirroring Castiel’s posture. “Ya know, I think it’s time for a foraging trip.” He announced, folding his arms. Castiel’s focus wandered from Dean’s face, down to the tanned, toned muscles of his biceps. _Nice…_ He thought appreciatively, his concentration on the matter at hand slipping. Those were very nice arms.

“Castiel?” Dean had apparently been speaking, but Castiel realised that he’d missed most of it. “Hmm?” He replied vaguely, dragging his eyes up to Dean’s face, which, on inspection, was also pretty nice. _Focus Castiel, Focus. There is an apocalypse here, more importantly a food crisis. Not the time to be admiring arms, even if they’re very nice._

“I said,” Dean talked slightly slower, like he was speaking to a child, a small smirk on his very nice face; “That we should get ready to go on a scavenging hunt. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Castiel nodded seriously, managing to maintain focus on the current topic in question.

“I will go dress then.” He stated, a little dumbly, and turned, padding out of the room in his socks, slipping ‘Bees and Their Ways’ under his arm as he left.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's perspective. Lots of vegetables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been years and I'm desperately sorry. In my defence, I'm on holiday in America and there's a lot going on, though I'm enjoying being in Winchester territory. This chapter feels sort of bitty and I'm not completely happy with it. But I thought I'd put it up anyway and then go back and edit it later. Please excuse any mistakes. Enjoy. P.S. Just made myself a Twitter, one that you can follow for updates on this and other fics, as well as my observations/general suffering surrounding the world of fan fiction.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the Garden. Dean was sweating profusely, his jacket tied around his waist, useless in the dry heat. Castiel was plodding slightly behind, laboriously putting one foot in front of the other, his hunched frame supporting the very large rucksack they’d brought to carry any food they could find. 

The stalks of corn seemed almost like an impenetrable wall in the constricting heat, abnormally high, thick with dry leaves, wide stalks rising up to meet the midday sun that scorched down upon the city, turning it brown and dusty. Dean thought of men in the desert, and mouths burning for water.

“It gets any hotter and the wells will go dry.” He muttered, slightly troubled.

“Pardon?” Castiel’s voice was rough, parched. Dean had almost forgotten he was there. Turning, he glanced back at Castiel, who's hair was, if possible, even more tousled than before. The five o’clock shadow had turned into a dark brown scruff, which the man didn’t seem to plan on doing anything about. It looked kind of hot, actually, Dean thought; sort of rugged.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. Dean was staring. _Goddammit_. Blinking, he turned back to face the corn stalks, muttering a quick “It’s nothing.” and began walking again, frowning to himself. He’d found guys attractive before, since he was a kid, fifteen years old and travelling with his dad. Of course he’d never said anything about it, Mr Winchester probably wouldn’t have been pleased if he’d found out that the chip off the old block sometimes thought that guys were kind of cute. But this, this was different somehow. Dean’s frown deepened in thought. Castiel wasn’t just attractive, Dean was attracted _to_ him.

Castiel’s voice brought Dean back to the present. “Do you think we should split up? Start at different ends and work our way back? We might complete our task more swiftly.” Dean nodded distractedly, and hefted his own rucksack higher on his shoulder.

“I’ll go this way.” Pointing down towards the far end of the garden, he set off, glancing back only once. Castiel was still standing where Dean had left him, next to the inside wall of corn stalks. His bag lay on the ground, his head turned up towards the cloudless sky, and Dean was once again reminded of an angel.

The next hour proceeded with the warmth filled silence that accompanies any hot day. Dean was knee deep in the overgrown carrot patch, struggling with a particularly mutant member of the species, when he heard a soft but purposeful cough behind him. He turned, and Castiel was standing slightly awkwardly a few paces away, the legs of his jeans covered in soil, and his arms full of potatoes. He stepped forward, and a few of them toppled off the large pile and fell to the ground with audible thumps.

Castiel’s “Oh, bother.” came out in a rather exasperated tone as he stooped to pick up his potatoes fallen comrades, three more immediately falling to join the first. Dean couldn’t help the chuckle and escaped him- surprisingly more warm and humour-filled than he expected, and stood up.

“Looks like you could use some help there.” He observed, though he didn’t move, mouth turned up at one corner in a slightly wonky smile. Castiel straightened clumsily.

“It does appear that way, yes” he replied, comically serious and a little harassed. Dean’s grin spread to the other corner of his mouth. _How formal is this guy?_

The scene in front of him seemed strangely normal, compared to the wasted city around them. Castiel, surrounded by fallen potatoes, his hair mussed, full of dirt, one leaf resting casually among the tangles. His face was equally dirty, a particularly large streak of brown dirt was smudged right across his nose, and for a short moment, Dean had the inexplicable urge to wipe it off with his thumb.There was a small pause. Castiel’s eyes dropped down to Dean’s midriff, and Dean was about to raise his eyebrows before he realised that he was still stupidly holding the mutant carrot in his left hand. He dropped it swiftly and went to pick up the potatoes, ducking his head and feeling slightly ridiculous. _You’ve survived five years alone in an abandoned city, and goddammit you can survive attractive men as well_ he told himself firmly, pivoting to shove the vegetables into the rucksack behind him. He stood up, holding it out to Castiel, who gratefully manoeuvred his armful to tip them, bouncing loudly, into the bag. 

“I finished my side of the garden” Castiel said, in answer to Dean’s unspoken question, “I thought I would come and assist you here, if that is acceptable.” He looked inquisitive, serious, slightly like a puppy. Dean felt thrown.

“Uh, yeah, thanks Cas, that would be great.” He gestured vaguely at the carrots. “I’m kinda struggling with these..” Castiel nodded before Dean had finished speaking, and knelt down on the soil, where he promptly began pulling out the carrots and laying beside him. He was quick and proficient, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

Castiel glanced up, noticed Dean’s expression, gave him a lopsided grin that seemed to lie mostly in his blue, blue eyes, and then said informatively, “Gardening was my occupation, before my employer dropped off, like all the rest of our species.” Dean knelt beside him to help, he was clumsier, slower, and after only two carrots he rocked back on his haunches to watch Cas. It was hot, and Dean felt a little drowsy, strangely happy.

“You were a gardener? Before everything went south?” He asked, his voice curious, gruff but quiet. Castiel rolled back onto the balls of his feet, mirroring Dean’s position. He looked warm and golden and real.

“I was. What did you do?”

“Mechanic.” Dean grinned his half grin. “Fixed up cars at my uncle Bobbie’s garage.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, “You look like you would be a mechanic.” Dean raised both eyebrows and stood, picking up his and Castiel’s efforts on the carrots and shoving them into his bag. Castiel, still on his haunches, looking up at Dean with a bemused expression.

“Are you offended by my observation?” Apparently curious.

“Uh, don’t think so. Was it a compliment?” Dubiously.

“It is neither a compliment, nor a criticism.” Castiel was smiling an annoyingly sincere smile, too sincere, and Dean realised that he was being made fun of. He also realised that he wanted to push Castiel over among the stupid carrots, and maybe sit on him.

“Ya sure?” This time there was some humour in Dean’s voice.

“Yes.” Was all Castiel said. The smile was still there, it was sort of intense, almost flirtatious, like the way girls used to look at him after they’d made him laugh. Dean was confused. He was confused by Castiel, and his weird ways of saying things, and by how he felt about him; so he nodded, his grin spreading once more, and observed conversationally, “Cas, not for nothin’ but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.” Two could play at that game, and Dean reckoned he was pretty good at it.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's perspective. In which Dean acts like a five year old, and Castiel lies about Mexican food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Scruffalina (she writes spn mini fics and they are adorable. Do check them out.), who kindly and enthusiastically beta'd this chapter for me. Thank you, your comments are always invaluable, and are you.

The heat that had plagued the city had gone, and in its place came storms. In the space of two days the skin-melting temperature and dry winds were swept away by bouts of torrential rains, rolling thunder and furious flashes of lightning that seemed to rent the sky in two. After conducting a food count, Dean had reckoned that they’d have more than enough to weather out the storm as long as it didn’t last for more than a few weeks, and in the meantime they might as well enjoy the forced break in their labours. 

This is why they now found themselves, on the fourth day of chaos, curled up in the moth eaten blankets of Castiel’s sofa, crunching on carrots and looking out the rain caked window at the barely visible storm that raged outside. After a day of what Castiel had called “gail-force winds”, Dean had decided to nail a plank of wood across the centre part of the window pane, to help keep it from smashing at any particularly violent gusts, and so the view was even more obscured by this addition to the interior decor.

“Well if this isn’t a bonding experience, I dunno what is.” Dean decided through a mouthful of carrot, adjusting his position next to Castiel on the sofa so that his legs lay across Castiel’s, his toes peeking out the blanket where they now lay on the armrest closest to the window. Castiel eyed Dean’s limbs with disapproval, then jumped slightly as something crashed against the wall of the house and the wind let out a particularly mournful howl. “Don’t worry,” Dean smirked, “This house is pretty damn strong.” Castiel was flummoxed as to how he could be calm in a situation like this one, and peered at Dean with a distinctly doubtful expression. “Rich people built it.” He clarified, and Castiel allowed himself a small smile.

“I don’t like storms,” He said uncomfortably, “And we haven’t had one this big before.”

Dean’s face softened for a moment, but the expression was quickly replaced with a smirk, “Don’t worry, I’m here for you.” His face indicated that it was a joke, but his voice sounded almost half serious.

 *

On the fifth day, Dean got bored, and Castiel discovered what it was like to babysit a five year old.

“This is goddamn stupid, Cas. I’d rather be in a life or death situation right now, instead of weathering this fucker out.” The wind made a particularly violent gust against the house, and Castiel scowled.

“Don’t talk about the storm like that. You’ll offend her.” He wasn’t completely joking.

“Oh wow, it’s a she now?” Dean was lying spread-eagled on the sofa. One leg up on the head rest, one dangling close to the floor. It looked ridiculous and Castiel was surprised that the only thing he was feeling about it was that it looked kind of adorable.

“I’m sorry that this possibly category three storm is not interesting enough for you, Dean. Maybe if you went outside and took in the view it would be better.” Castiel said mulishly.

Dean’s offhand reply of, “Oh, don’t be an ass, Cas.” Was followed by a slight chuckle, and Castiel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I am not, as you say, being ‘an ass’. I am merely insinuating that this storm is nothing to be taking lightly.”

“Okay Cas, you’re right. Amuse me then, I’m not used to staying still like this.” A pause, then, “Please.” He added, and Castiel allowed a small grin to spread across his face.

“Fine.”

Sitting down on the wooden floor, Castiel wrapped the blanket he had around himself a little tighter, and frowned in thought. Dean, seeing his expression, let his legs drop to hang from the sofa, and slowly slid to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. They looked at each other,their eyes meeting for a moment, and the world seemed to quiet around them, the wind dropping and the rain throwing itself a little less heavily against the sides of the house. Then Castiel shifted slightly and everything picked up again, the pace of the world returning to normal.

“Let’s play a game,”

Dean smirked, “Is it murder?” Castiel chose to ignore the joke.

“It’s called two truths and a tale. I tell you two things about me that are true, and one thing that’s a lie. Then you have to guess the lie.”

Dean looked critical. “Sounds like something you’d play in kids drama class.”

“Well,” said Castiel mutinously, “If you’d rather be bored and not do anything, that’s also feasible.” Then he stared at his socks (today they were bright green and woollen), feeling as though he’d been a little too forward. Anyway, it was a stupid game, and they were adults. Of course Dean would think it was a ridiculous idea.

“Let’s do it.” Dean’s voice broke the slightly pregnant pause, “You go first.”

“Very well then.” Castiel suddenly felt like he’d bitten off a bit more than he could chew, but decided to plough ahead anyway. “Number one: once I found this dog in a toilet in New York. I was on holiday with my grandma Niomie and she’s allergic to dogs so I had to take it to a dog pound, but I was worried that they wouldn’t look after it well enough so the next night I broke in and stole the dog and then drove back to where I was living at the time. I left my grandma in New York.” He added, a little hastily, “She lived there.”

Dean looked completely incredulous, “Where did you live then? How far was the drive?”

“Kansas.” Castiel said with a completely straight face. “It took me three days.”

“That has to be a lie.” Dean was shaking his head and grinning widely, “Though I’d love it to be true. Next.”

“Alright,” Castiel continued, “Number two: when I was eleven my family joined a cult. The leader called himself God, and his followers were called angels, and when I was about thirteen one of the angels killed God and tried to take over, and then another angel murdered her, and it was going to be this big police case so my family moved across the country to live here.”

“Castiel, these just get weirder and weirder… If these are true, you are possibly the strangest dude I’ve ever met.”

Castiel tried not to smile, “The last one is this: I have never eaten Mexican food.”

Dean burst out laughing, leaning against the front of the sofa and shaking with mirth. “Castiel.” He said on in-breaths between laughs, “None of those can be true, what kind of human being are you?”

Castiel was grinning, the storm outside momentarily forgotten. Dean’s laughter sounded mirthful and almost carefree over the sound of the rain still battering the house, and he was feeling pleased with himself and his three ideas. He realised that he quite enjoyed making Dean laugh.

The laughter gradually died down little by little, and Dean seemed to be mulling over his options, a chuckle still occasionally escaping him. “I give up, Cas.” He said finally, “I reckon none of those can be true. Who hasn’t eaten Mexican food?”

Castiel’s grin spread even wider. “One and two were both true. The last one was a lie. You’re right Dean, who hasn’t consumed Mexican food?”


End file.
